


Blackbird's

by Wynne_Jayne



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-19 22:11:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9462326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wynne_Jayne/pseuds/Wynne_Jayne
Summary: Iwaizumi just wants to spend the next year quietly working in a café, earning enough money to get to university. Unfortunately for him, one Oikawa Tooru decides that Blackbird's is the perfect place to break up with his multiple girlfriends. Tensions rise between the two and a rocky relationship is born. But when the unexpected happens and the two form a bond, well... what will happen?(Rare pair Hinata and Tuskki also make an appearance. Yay!)





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

 

**A Tuesday**

 

Perhaps Iwaizumi was cursed in a previous life.

It would make sense. Maybe he did something terrible, unforgiveable, and was destined to be plagued by bad luck in his next incarnation. At least then Iwaizumi would have some explanation as to why, lately, he’s been beset by an incorrigible _pest_.

“But Oikawa-san,” whines a girl at the back of the café. She’s small and rosy-cheeked, with long, straight hair clipped back with twin, heart-shaped bobby-pins. “ _Why_? What do you mean?! I thought- I thought we were getting along!”.

Iwaizumi’s eyebrow twitches.

“I’m sorry, Mari-chan,” the Aoyami bastard, _Oikawa_ , replies with a breezy smile. “But I can’t go out with you anymore.”

“Whyyyyyy?”

Oikawa shrugs. “I don’t know… because I don’t want to be tied down?” he laughs, like he’s talking about something pleasant and not breaking up with his girlfriend. “Sorry. Do you want to order a coffee? I recommend the caramel mocha.”

Iwaizumi and the rest of Blackbird’s staff brace themselves after that, tensing for-

“Noooooooooo!”

The girl bursts into insistent sobs, alternating between wailing, sniffing and whining. A vein throbs in Iwaizumi’s forehead and he notices a few heads turning to the commotion, some with pity in their eyes and others (who are well acquainted with this scene by now) with bored, irritated glances. Across the shop floor, Iwaizumi spots a flustered Hinata racing over to the crying girl with a handkerchief outstretched, which she takes and blows into noisily.

“That makes twenty-two,” Tsukkishima comments dryly, appearing at Iwaizumi’s left with a tray of latte glasses in hand.

Iwaizumi grunts, eyes narrowing at the way the Aoyami bastard’s arms wheel around as he attempts to console his latest victim, reaching out to reluctantly pat her head. She throws herself into his arms, and he frowns down at the tears and snot darkening his soft, cashmere sweater. 

Iwaizumi hopes it stains.

 

Xxxx

 

The first time Oikawa wandered into _Blackbird’s_ a few months ago, it was a sleepy little café which survived mostly on the loyalty of local regulars, and he was clearly lost. Rubbing his mitten-clad hands together, he’d shouldered his way into the shop, blinking large, brown eyes against the light and taking in the mismatched chairs and naked lightbulbs overhead. In a sort of daze he sidled up to the counter, asking the boss, Hisako, for directions to the station.

Then his eyes landed on their coffee selection. 

Their _special_ coffee selection.

Soon pictures of it were plastered all over social media and the next time Oikawa came to Blackbird’s, it wasn’t by accident; he even brought a dozen other Aoyami students in tow. They crowded the small place like a pack of hipster hyenas, ordering ridiculous coffees with a hundred different syrups and a hundred different milks and a hundred stupid little requests. Poor Hinata got so flustered Iwaizumi was afraid the younger boy was going to overheat and keel over.

After that, Blackbird’s became the unofficial hang out for the beanie-wearing, tatty-jumper-owning population of Aoyami University. But, as frustrating as they were, this paled in comparison to the headache of Oikawa’s breakups. He’d apparently decided Blackbird’s was the perfect backdrop for dumping girlfriends. 

All twenty-fucking-two of them.

 It’s driving Iwaizumi insane.

 

Xxxx

 

**A Thursday**

 

Over the next month, Iwaizumi is pretty sure he has a front row seat to every possible breakup scene imaginable. There’s the weepy kind:

“Oikawa, _(sniff)_ why would you-? _(warble)_ How could you? _(sob)_ Oikawa!”

Then there are the ones who beg and bargain:

“Is it something I’ve done? I can change, you know! I’m sorry I’ve haven’t been texting as much but the project’s over soon and I’ll have tons more time so please give us another chance? I really like you!”

And today, there’s the angry kind.

“I can’t believe you!” this girl shouts, one hand already reaching to wrench open the café door, having left a scene of destruction in her wake. Oikawa is crouched under the table, terrified, and there’s hot coffee everywhere. “I should’ve listened to Mari, you really are a shitty guy!” the girl yells. Iwaizumi privately agrees with Mari’s assessment as he mops up the remnants of a latte. “I hope you lose your next match!”

Then she slams the door shut. 

Iwaizumi doesn’t miss the tears glittering in her eyes though, or the wobble of her chin.

“Phew,” Oikawa says, slowly crawling out from under the table and smiling far too brightly for a guy who just broke up with his girlfriend. “Scaaaaary~ I thought she was going to kill me!”

Under his breath, Iwaizumi mutters, “I wouldn’t have blamed her if she did, jerk,” and wanders away just as Hinata appears with their trusty mop. 

Oikawa is too busy smoothing down his hair to hear him.

 

Xxxxx

 

**A Saturday.**

 

“Your face is gonna stick like that,” Hisako, the owner, says on her way back from her cigarette break. But Iwaizumi misses it in his distraction: angrily scrubbing tea cups and pots and pans. Two hours ago, the Aoyami students had appeared in a horde of ironic t-shirts and university jerseys, disturbing the slow peace of Iwaizumi’s day. Their incessant, obnoxious chatter is driving him crazy.

“Hey,” Hisako says.

There’s another bout of too-loud laughter from the café floor. Iwaizumi scrubs harder.

Sighing, Hisako leans towards him and flicks him right where his scowling eyebrows meet. Iwaizumi nearly drops a saucer.

“Oi!” he protests.

But Hisako merely toys with one of her cigarettes, watching him. She rarely shows emotion- which is disconcerting- but Iwaizumi knows her too well to be intimidated now. Instead he grumbles and rubs his sore forehead, sloshing bubbles across his face. He’d forgotten he was still wearing marigolds. “What was that for?” he demands.

“Excessive scowling,” Hisako says airily. “And I was concerned for safety of my porcelain,” she pauses and looks at the mountainous stack of dishes Iwaizumi has stacked by the dishwasher, which is whirring pathetically away in the corner, tired from overuse. “How long have you been on dishes, anyway?”

Iwaizumi thinks about lying. Then he looks into Hisako’s brilliant ember eyes.

“… two hours.”

Hisako is already calling Yachi.

“I don’t mind doing the dishes,” Iwaizumi protests.

“You mean you don’t mind hiding,” Hisako snorts.

“Yeah? So?”

Hisako gives him a withering look. “You’re my supervisor, Iwaizumi. I need you on the ball at all times,”

“I am-”

“ _Regardless_ of which customers are currently occupying our well-worn chairs,” Hisako interrupts, mouth twisting up into a sadistic smile. “He’s a pain in the ass, but he sure brings in a lot of custom with him. Besides, there’s no going back now. The secrets out: Hinata’s coffee is too good an opportunity for any half-assed indie Instagram account holder to pass up, right?”

 _Right,_ Iwaizumi thinks, grumbling.

“Besides,” Hisako says, grinning menacingly. “We should be grateful- students are more lucrative than the stingy old grumps around here. So they can be as loud as they want and break as many hearts as they want, so long as they’re emptying their pockets.”

“That sounded kinda evil, you know,” Iwaizumi comments, eyes putting his hands on his hips.

“I am evil.”

Iwaizumi squints at Hisako- at her dark, short hair peppered with early streaks of grey, her wrinkled face, black fingernails and heavy, hobnailed boots. “Yeah,” he agrees. “You are.”

She cuffs him across the back of his head. Just then, the sound of footsteps interrupts their glaring match.

“Yes mam?” Yachi says, popping her head through the staff door. Her cheeks are flushed and her blonde hair flies prettily around her flustered face. She’s only been working at Blackbirds’ for a few weeks and the sudden big table of students must have been a shock to the system. Iwaizumi feels a pang of guilt at that.

Hisako waves at the wash station. “Will you take a turn? I’m sure Iwaizumi told you, but we all take a turn at dishes here. An hour each.” 

“Oh, yes!” Yachi pipes, claiming a pair of marigolds in barely-concealed relief. “I’ll start right away.”

“Thanks,” Hisako says with a vague curve of her lips. It might be a smile- Iwaizumi can’t tell. Then she turns to him and it’s gone. She jerks her head to the door and Iwaizumi sighs in defeat.

“I’m going,” he grumbles, slipping on his waiting apron.

“Oh, and Iwaizumi?” Hisako says when Iwaizumi gets one hand on the door. He turns to her.

 “Remember to smile.”

  

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

 

It’s not that Iwaizumi has anything against students in general. It’s just-

 “Oikawa! Man, how did it go? Did she yell at you?”

“Oi! Oi! Did you see that video? The one with Chi-chan and-”

“Woah dude, watch my phone, will ya?!”

“Shimi, can you order me a milkshake?”

“Does this mean Oikawa’s available again?”

“Party at Ayame’s!”

“Tada- stop it!”

It’s that just looking at them all makes Iwaizumi feel exhausted, like an old, grumpy man. Not to mention Oikawa’s shitty, smug face makes Iwaizumi want to punch him. Hard. Just once- as pay back for weeks of hysterical girls, flung drinks and general drama.

“It seems our diligent supervisor has returned,” Tsukishima greets him with a glaring side eye and a twisted smile. The blonde-haired high schooler is running around like a whippet at the races, making coffees and frothing milk. Iwaizumi takes one look at the orders rung up on the side and winces with guilt again.

“Sorry,” he says gruffly. He looks around the café, wrinkling his nose at the students, and finds that even without them the place is pretty packed tonight. “Where are you up to?”

“Ticket four,” Tsukishima answers, tartly.

“Right,” says Iwaizumi, getting his bearings. In one swift motion he’s set out three latte plates, two tea pots and is hitting the button on the coffee machine. He pretends not to notice Tsukishima’s jealous, irritated look. The kid’s surprisingly competitive. “Where’s Hinata?”

“I’m not that moron’s keeper.”

“I didn’t-”

There’s a loud crash at the back of the café.

Tsukishima gives Iwaizumi a bored look. “Found him.”

“I’m so sorry!” Hinata yells, to a table. Yes. A table. There’s no one even sitting at it.

The group of college kids break into laughter and Hinata’s whole face reddens as he bends down to pick up an empty tray. At least he didn’t break anything. This time.

“Iwaizumi!” Hinata shouts, when he spots Iwaizumi behind the counter. He’s too loud. Always too loud. “You’re back- is Yachi at the dishes?”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says, gruffly. He clears his throat, raising his voice so that Tsukishima will hear him too. “Sorry I left you guys so long… I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Don’t worry, Iwaizumi,” answers the younger, energetic boy. He thumps his chest and gives Iwaizumi a thumbs up and grin so big, it’s dazzling. “You can leave it all to me.”

“You can’t even change the coffee beans,” Tsukishima mutters.

“Shut up, stupid-shima! Frankie doesn’t like me.”

“Did you give the coffee machine a nickname?” Tsukishima sneers.

“Yeah. So?”

“Are you a grade schooler?”

“Oi! If this is about my height again I’ll-”

Iwaizumi puts a plate down with an audible snap and sends a death glare at the pair, who cease their nonsense at once. “We’ve got enough noise without you two starting,” Iwaizumi says darkly. He thrusts a tray of drinks into Hinata’s arms. “Table five.”

Swallowing, Hinata scurries away to deliver a family of five their goods and Iwaizumi winces at the way the orange-haired boy balances a jug of milk precariously in the crook of his arm while he dishes out tea cups and juice cartons with far too much enthusiasm.

“Why does Hisako-san even keep him around?” Tsukishima mutters, swiping back sweaty hair. The chef calls out an order from his hutch and the tall boys reaches for it effortlessly.

Iwaizumi doesn’t answer. They both know why. In truth, Hinata’s the other reason Blackbird’s became a hit with the youth of Aoyami recently. Really, Iwaizumi should hate Hinata as much as Oikawa for this but, looking at the genuine smile on the younger boy’s face and the way his eyes light up while he chats to customers … Iwaizumi just can’t bring himself to do it. 

And from the way Tsukishima’s eyes fall on Hinata, Iwaizumi can tell that despite his blustering, neither can he.

 

Xxxxx

 

 It’s gone five o’clock.

 Five of those Aoyami bastards are still sat there.

“Can we throw them out?” Tsukishima mutters, voicing Iwaizumi’s thoughts.

“Oi,” Hisako says, appearing menacingly in the chef’s hutch like a summoned devil. “No bad-talking our _valued customers_.”

Yachi sucks in a surprised breath, turning to Hinata with a whispered, “How did she even hear that?”

“Hisako-san hears everything,” Hinata answers sagely.

“Damn-straight,” Hisako says with a sharp grin. She glances at the clock. “But kick them out when it hits half past.”

“What happened to _valued customers_?” Iwaizumi demands. Everyone’s gathered behind the counter since all of the other customers have left now and there’s only chef’s equipment to wash up.

“We pack up at half five,” Hisako answers, breezily. “Says so on the sign. They’re not our customers then.”

“What are they even doing now?” Tsukishima asks, bored and irritable. “Don’t they have anywhere else to spend their sad little lives on a Saturday? They haven’t ordered anything for at least half an hour now.”

“I think they’re waiting,” Yachi says, twirling her thumbs nervously when everyone’s attention shifts to her. “I heard one of the boys say they’re going to see a movie or something.”

“So we’re a pit stop,” Iwaizumi says.

Hisako shoots him a dirty look. “Don’t call my café a pit stop,”

“Well they can’t be too long now,” Tsukishima snaps. He sounds more annoyed than Iwaizumi had first thought him.

“I’ll go ask them,” Hinata says suddenly, and before anyone can stop him he’s skipping over to the table. Soon enough, a few heads turn to the high schooler and it takes no time at all for them to warm up to Hinata’s enthusiasm. Iwaizumi shakes his head in wonder. Hisako whistles and then looks at him for long, hard moment.

“What?” he demands.

“Nothing. Just a shame you don’t share that natural charisma too, frowny-kun.”

Tsukkishima scoffs behinds his hand. Iwaizumi glares at them darkly. “Shut up.”

Soon, Hinata’s back with them, leaving behind a string of laughs and friendly smiles. “Their film is at seven,” he says. “So they’ll be going soon. They’re going to see Invasion Eight- isn’t that cool? I wish I was old enough to get in!”

“Isn’t that the stupid alien film?” Tsukishima asks.

“The gory one with Hirose Midori?” Yachi adds, wrinkling her nose.

Iwaizumi doesn’t even have a clue what they’re talking about. _Shit_ , he thinks, _maybe I really am old_.

“Yeah!” Hinata agrees, nodding his head and shaking his ridiculous hair in his enthusiasm. “It’s supposed to be reeeally scary!”

“Duh, it’s a horror film,” Tsukishima deadpans. He turns on his heel before Hinata can start spluttering. “If they’re leaving soon I’m going to do the last of the dishes.”

“I’ll go clean the toilets,” Yachi volunteers, stubbornly turning down Hinata’s insistence that he can “totally take care of that for you!” In the end, they agree to do it together.

Chairs scuff and Iwaizumi let’s out a sigh of relief that, _finally_ , they’re leaving. But that relief evaporates hard and fast when he realises that only one chair scuffed and a tall, sharp-eyed customer is fast approaching the counter. Wildly he turns to Hisako, but all she does is mouth “Valued customer,” before disappearing again. Iwaizumi resists the urge to smack his head against a wall.

“Yoohoo~” Oikawa greets Iwaizumi with a big, shit-eating grin. “I’d like one large, special cappuccino, please.”

Iwaizumi takes a deep breath. “We’ll be closing soon, you know,” he says, plastering on a smile that is more menacing than friendly.

Oikawa’s eyebrows rise fractionally. “Yep,” he agrees, breezy. He glances at his watch. “We still have ten minutes though, right?”

“And I’m sorry,” Iwaizumi continues. “But we can’t do a special right now.”

Oikawa’s lip looks like it’s about to stick out in a pout. “Ehhhhh? Why not?”

“Our coffee artist is currently clearing up,” Iwaizumi answers, stiffly.

“Can’t you do it?”

“Nope.”

Oikawa’s face sets. “So only Chibi-chan can do it? That’s a shame, I wanted to show Megumi-chan.”

Glancing over Oikawa’s shoulder, Iwaizumi quickly locates Megumi-chan as a cute, pink-lipped girl with brown, bobbed hair and big, dewy eyes which never leave Oikawa’s back. Suddenly every breakup scene Iwaizumi has witnessed over these past months flashes behind his eyes and his stomach turns with dislike. How would she fare, over the next few weeks? What will she look like when this bastard finally gets bored? Will she cry?

“That so?” he asks tightly.

“Yeah, she’s cute, right?” Oikawa says, dropping his voice and putting his elbows on the counter. “Girls always love the coffees from here- especially chibi-chan’s totoro designs.” He puts his chin on his hands and smiles that same, shit-eating grin Iwaizumi’s been seeing in his nightmare for weeks. “Could you call him back? I could pay extra~”

The way Oikawa says that: in a sing-song voice, each word dripping with confidence- it makes something in Iwaizumi snap.

“Maybe instead of showing off you should focus on keeping one girl happy, jerk.”

The words are out of his mouth, sharp and full of anger, before Iwaizumi can stop himself. He freezes instantly, swallowing, and stares in barely concealed horror as Oikawa’s widened eyes narrow into a surprisingly intimidating glare. 

_Shit._

“Hmmmm? I didn’t realise unwanted advice was part of the service here,” Oikawa says, coolly. He straightens to his full height so he can look down at Iwaizumi. Right down his nose.

Iwaizumi bites his cheek to stop himself saying any more.

For a moment they hang suspended in time, glaring at each other, and then Oikawa shrugs. Casual. Careless. How he always acts.

“I think I’ll skip the coffee tonight,” Oikawa glances coldly at Iwaizumi’s name badge. “ _Iwa-chan_. See you~”

And then he’s turning away and retreating to his horde of friends. He tells them something which has them all laughing good-naturedly and clambering noisily onto their feet: winding scarves around their necks and slipping on thick coats to ward off the sharp, winter air. They trundle slowly out the café; Oikawa holds open the door for Megumi and then pointedly turns to wave goodbye at Iwaizumi.

“Bye, Iwa-chan~” he sings, a note of menace underneath his cheer, before letting the door snap shut.

A long beat of silence follows, and then… 

“Iwaizumi,” calls Hisako, darkly.

Sensing a menacing aura, Iwaizumi turns slowly to find Hisako standing in the threshold to the kitchen, hands on her hips and a smile like thunder on her face. Behind her, Iwaizumi is pretty sure he can make out Tsukishima shaking with laughter at the sink and Hinata and Yachi are peeking around the toilet doors, terrified.

“… yeah?” he asks.

“What. Was that?” Hiasko demands.

Swallowing, Iwaizumi ventures, “The bastard had it coming?”

He narrowly dodges the clipboard hurled at his face.

 

Xxxx

 

**Sunday**

 

The next day, Iwaizumi is surprised to find Oikawa strolling cheerfully into Blackbird’s, Megumi hanging delightedly onto his arm. He’s wearing glasses today and a tailored coat.

“Iwa-chan,” he greets him warmly, despite the fact that his eyes are like stone. “Two _special_ cappuccinos.” He glances at Hinata who jumps back a little, intimidated. “Now that Chibi-chan’s here, it’s not a problem, right?”

Behind him, Iwaizumi feels Hisako’s menacing glare and painfully recalls the _hour-long_ lecture he received last night about propriety and minding his own business. He forces a smile onto his face. “Not at all, where are you sitting… _sir?_ ”

He still has to bite out that last bit though. Tsukishima scoffs behind his hand. 

“Hmmmm, table twelve, I think,” Oikawa says pointedly. The same table he always sits at. “As long as it’s no trouble, of course.”

“Not at all,” Iwaizumi says through gritted teeth, hating the teasing tone in Oikawa’s voice. “We’ll bring it all over.”

“Thanks Iwa-chan, we’ll take two totoros then,” Oikawa says. He even has the gall to wink- yes, _wink_ \- at Iwaizumi before he and Megumi wander away. Megumi giggles at something Oikawa whispers in her ear, and she turns to glance at Iwaizumi before laughing into her hand.

Iwaizumi’s hands curl into fists.

“Don’t mind, Iwaizumi!” Hinata exclaims, slapping his back.

 “Remember your sense of _propriety_ ,” Tsukishima scoffs, clearly amused.

 Growling, Iwaizumi elbows him sharply in the ribs, cutting off any other smart remark forming on his sour lips.

 

 

Xxx

 

**Another Saturday**

 

 For the next two weeks, Oikawa comes to the café. Every. Single. Day.

And every time he does, he waits until Iwaizumi is serving at the till before sidling up to make his order- each one becoming more difficult and more complicated than the next.

“I’ll have a caramel, spiced latte with extra cream and marshmallows with chocolate shavings instead of a sprinkle of cinnamon, oh and do you have oat milk?” he asks.

“We only have soy,” Iwaizumi grits out.

“Almond milk then?”

“We only have _soy…_ _sir.”_

Oikawa grins like a Cheshire cat whenever Iwaizumi calls him sir; it makes Iwaizumi want to kick his stupid, perfect teeth in.

“Huuuuh? Well… I _guess_ that’ll do.”

Iwaizumi resists the urge to strangle this pompous, fluffy-haired arsehole and instead throws himself into work. Quick as lightening, he whips up Oikawa’s ridiculous order, marches over to the four-eyed bastard, and sets it down on the table. That done he storms over to the counter to help Tsukishima with a large order of take-out mochas. Hinata is busy adding the finishing touches to two frothed, sailor moon inspired cappuccinos, tongue sticking out in concentration, and Yachi is dashing around handing out food. The rhythm and ordered mayhem soothe Iwaizumi’s annoyance and soon he forgets all about the obnoxious prat sitting by the window.

The bell above the door tinkles and an old woman shuffles into the café.

“Welcome-” Iwaizumi calls, and then stops, face breaking into a genuine smile. “Nakamura-san!”

The old lady, Nakamura, bobs her head at Iwaizumi and holds the door open for her husband. “Hello- Iwaizumi-kun,” she greets, cheerfully. “It’s nice to see you again, you look well." 

“Nakamura-san!” Hinata exclaims, glancing up from his work. “You’re back!”

“Still as energetic as ever, eh Hinata-chan?” Nakamura’s husband chuckles, struggling into the café with his crutches. The couple begin to shuffle towards the counter but Iwaizumi waves them away, already stepping onto the shop floor with notepad and pen in hand.

“I’ll come over,” he says.

“Oh, Iwaizumi-kun, dear, that’s not necessary,”

But Iwaizumi insists, guiding them to the table by the radiator. Nakamura and her husband settle down gratefully into their chairs. “Thank you, love,” Nakamura says.

“It’s not a problem,” Iwaizumi says, smiling. “Let me guess, one green tea ice cream, a strawberry shortcake and a pot of chai tea for two?”

Nakamura inclines her head with a laugh. “Yes, yes. I really should do something about this sweet tooth of mine.”

“She’s a fiend with those vending machines,” her husband comments with a chuckle. “Constantly buying treats.”

“Oh hush,” Nakamura dismisses him. “There’s nothing wrong with a little every now and then,”

“It’s good for the soul if not the body,” Iwaizumi jokes, and the couple crack up into a tittering laugh. He finishes writing up the order. “We’ll bring over your drinks now- you can pay after the food, I’ll bring the bill so don’t worry about it.”

“Such a sweet boy,” Nakamura gushes. “I’ve missed coming here.”

Nakamura’s husband hums his agreement. “Damn legs are the only thing that kept us away,” he says, gripping his knees with a self-deprecating smile. “Cold builds up in the joints.”

“Well then I’m glad it’ll be spring soon,” Iwaizumi says. “I’m pretty sure Nakamura-san’s sweet tooth is the only thing that keeps us in business.”

She pushes at his arm playfully, laughing, and Iwaizumi trundles away to the counter to ring through their order, popping his pen into his shirt pocket. Over by the coffee machine, Tsukishima glances at the couple curiously.

“Are they regulars?” he asks. “I don’t recorgnise them.”

“Ah! That’s right,” Hinata exclaims, springing back from his finished, artistic creation to invade Tsukishima’s personal space. “You haven’t been here that long. The Nakamuras have been coming here since we opened; they were our first customers!”

“Get out of my face, idiot,” Tsukishima hisses, shoving Hinata roughly away.

“Meany!” Hinata says, angrily. But then his eyes soften and he looks over at the Nakamuras with a tenderness Iwaizumi is sure mirrors his own. “I’m glad they’re back though. Nakamura-san’s legs got really bad last year. When they didn’t come for so long, I was worried.”

 _He’s a good kid,_ Iwaizumi thinks, reaching out to roughly ruffle the younger boy’s bright, orange hair. “Wanna take over their drinks? I’ll take those cappuccinos for you.” He says, gruffly.

“Really?” Hinata asks, practically sparkling. “You don’t mind?”

In answer, Iwaizumi picks up the tray holding the sailor moon coffees and wanders over to table fifteen, smirking amusedly at Hinata’s hurried, “Thank you, Iwaizumi!” and Tsukishima’s muttered, “Not so loud, idiot." 

The girls at table fifteen are obviously high schoolers. It dawns on Iwaizumi that they might know one of his kohais, who are in their last year at Karasuno themselves. Usually, Iwaizumi would let such questions slide, but the Nakamuras have put him in such a good mood he decides to find out, and politely engages them in small talk as he sets down their coffees. They gush over the artwork, praising Hinata’s handiwork, and quickly take snaps with their phones. Iwaizumi finds out that they are indeed second years at Karasuno but don’t know any of his kohais personally. Instead, they heard Yachi telling someone about Hinata’s coffees and just _had_ to check it out.

“It really does look like Luna!” one of them says, twisting her coffee cup this way and that.

“I almost don’t want to drink it,” the other admits, shyly tucking a lock of long hair behind her ear.

“That’s a shame,” Iwaizumi says with a good-natured grin. “Because they taste even better than they look.”

For some reason, this causes a bright flush of red to spread across the girl’s cheeks. “Oh, er, r-right.”

Under the table, her friend nudges her with her knee, causing the blush to intensify, and Iwaizumi decides to take his leave. He glances over at the Nakamuras on his way back and finds that Hinata has somehow managed to drag both Tsukishima and Yachi over to introduce them.

“These are my kohais!” he announces.

“Who’s your kohai?” Tsukishima mutters, lowering himself into a half-assed bow.

“Don’t mind him,” Hinata tells the Nakamuras in a stage whisper. “He’s just shy,”

“It- it’s nice to meet you!” Yachi pipes up.

“My, so many new faces!” Nakamura exclaims. “Things sure have picked up while we’ve been away. It’s nice to have things so lively, isn’t it dear?”

Her husband inclines his head, eyes creasing into crescent moons under the weight of it. “Makes an old codger like me feel ten years younger. 

They chat for a bit: Hinata gives them a very detailed account of everything they’ve missed, Yachi nervously answers Nakamura’s polite questions about school and even Tsukishima gets drawn into the conversation, eyes sparkling a little when Nakamura’s husband mentions his career as Paleontologist professor in Tokyo. It feels right to have them back. Iwaizumi hadn’t been aware of just how wrong the place felt without them.

Smiling, he turns around to return to the counter, but stops when he notices a pair of brown, unblinking eyes staring at him. Startled, he snaps, “What?” before he can stop himself. He’d forgotten Oikawa was still sat by the window.

Oikawa’s expression is unreadable: almost… surprised, thoughtful, maybe even _soft_. But before Iwaizumi can make sense of it though, Oikawa smirks and takes a sip of his coffee.

“I just thought your pen was cute, Iwa-chan. I didn’t know you had such girly tastes~”

Frowning, Iwaizumi glances down at his shirt pocket and feels a blush creep up his neck. He’d picked up Hinata’s pen by mistake, which ends in a bright, orange teddy bear. Ignoring Oikawa’s obnoxious laugh, Iwaizumi stomps angrily away and refuses to look in his direction for the rest of the evening.

  _Shitty bastard._

 

 

Xxxxx

 

**A Wednesday**

 

The inevitable happens. 

“You’re… you’re breaking up with me?” Megumi gasps, clearly shocked.

Iwaizumi tenses. Besides Hisako, he’s the only one waiting today, so if hot coffee goes flying it’ll be his mess alone to deal with.

“I’m sorry, Megumi-chan,” Oikawa says, cheery as usual. “I just don’t think it’s working out.”

Megumi’s mouth thins into a tight line.

“Really?” She says, tone quiet. Dangerous.

 “I still want to be friends, though,” Oikawa continues, oblivious. “I mean, it isn’t a big deal, right?”

 Megumi says nothing. That’s new. Iwaizumi hasn’t seen a girl react like this before and, clearly, neither has Oikawa. He coughs to fill the tense, awkward silence and goes for his usual trick. “How about a coffee? The specials are really cute here-”

 “You’re going to regret this,” Megumi says, in that same, quiet tone. She stands abruptly. It’s obvious she dressed for the occasion: her dress is yellow and frilly, shot through with a pattern of pink and her hair is a mass of carefully arranged, salon curls. Even her fingernails match her outfit. She’s pretty, doll-like even, but in that instant Iwaizumi feels a shiver run down his spine. Something about her eyes…

“Come on, Megumi-chan,” Oikawa says, laughing nervously. “I still like-”

But Megumi just walks away. Silently, the door opens and closes, and she’s gone.

 For once, Oikawa is speechless when Iwaizumi brings over his silly concoction of sugar and coffee. For about ten minutes he just stares at the door, then at the table, barely touching his drink. It’s almost like _he_ got dumped instead of the other way round. For one wild, deranged moment, Iwaizumi almost feels _sorry_ for the prat. But then his friends wander into the café and he quickly perks up again: teasing Iwaizumi, flirting outrageously with a girl at table thirteen and just generally being his obnoxious self.

 But Iwaizumi can’t quite get Megumi’s eyes out of his head that night. They’d looked… familiar and-

  _Murderous._

Xxxx

 

  **A Sunday**

 

For the first time in four weeks, Oikawa doesn’t turn up at Blackbird’s. In fact, no Aoyami students do. It’s a slow day of family lunches and elderly couples ordering tea. The Nakamuras bob in again, this time with their grandchildren, and Hinata spends the better part of an hour showing them how he makes a Doremon coffee. They _ooo!_ and _ahhhh!_ at his skills which makes Hinata flush with pride and Tsukishima’s eyes narrow. He watches Hinata’s work intently, however, face twisting with grudging respect and envy. Iwaizumi’s pretty sure he’s seen Tsukishima practice his coffee skills when he thinks nobody’s looking. Really, it would be much simpler if he’d ask Hinata for help, but Iwaizumi doubts Tsukishima’s pride would allow this.

Anyway, the Nakamuras come and go and soon the little café is empty save for the staff. They clean up in no time at all and Hiasko let’s them all go early, pushing a cake box into each of their hands.

“They’ll only go off, otherwise,” she says with a sniff. Only Iwaizumi, who puts the cakes out in a morning, knows this is a lie. “You’ve worked hard today, well done. I’ll see you all next weekend.”

“Thanks, Hisako-san!” Hinata crows, jumping up and down at the prospect of free cake.

“Yes, thank you!” Yachi adds. She turns to Iwaizumi and bobs. “See you soon, Iwaizumi-san.”

Iwaizumi inclines his head.

Soon, the three of them are waving and out of the door.

Alone at last, Iwaizumi and Hisako go over stock together (they are in desperate need of napkins) and Iwaizumi gives the café another once over: checking the condiments and cutlery. In the end, Hisako has to physically shove him out of the café.

“Go, you saddo- oh and take this,” she hands him an envelope containing a few thousand yen. He looks up at her, confused: it isn’t payday until Friday. “It’s from the Nakamuras to _help you along._ And no-” she says, interrupting the protest on Iwaizumi’s lips. “I won’t give it back. You work hard, Iwaizumi, and they can see that. So just take it, will ya?”

Sighing, Iwaizumi puts the envelope in his back pocket. “Fine,” he says, unchaining his bike. He swings a leg over the seat. “But just this once, okay?”

Hisako just rolls her eyes. “Say hi to your mum for me,” she says, slipping back into the warmth of the café.

With a grunt, Iwaizumi kicks off and begins the thirty minute cycle home. It’s a cold, clear night; stars blaze overhead and a crescent moon hangs like a quirked smile in the sky. Iwaizumi’s breath comes out in puffs of white and his fingers begin to tingle with cold, wrapped tightly around his handle bars until they feel like ice.

He turns onto a plaza of shops, passing couples with their arms interlinked and groups of university students clutching steaming, paper cups outside the movie theatre. Straining his vision, Iwaizumi realizes he recorgnises a few of the students and immediately tenses, head whipping around for a familiar glimpse of puffy hair and obnoxious grin. But Oikawa isn’t anywhere.

 _The guy’s got me on edge,_ he thinks, grunting. _Shitty bastard._

The subdued din of the plaza settles into distant background noise as Iwaizumi takes a sharp left through the park. The darkness has brought with it emptiness; swings shudder in the cool breeze, abandoned, save for a lone, forgotten teddy bear at the end of a seesaw. It’s creepy, but it cuts ten minutes off Iwaizumi’s ride home, so he braces his nerves and tightens his grip, pushing through the wave of fear which always tingles along his spine. Ever since he was a child, Iwaizumi has been weak to horror films and the such, always hiding behind the couch whenever No-face in Spirited Away transformed into a monster, and later calling off sick to avoid tests of courage at high school. Not that he'd ever admit this, he’d rather die than let anyone know he’s a sucker for jump scares. Tsukishima would never let him live it down and he’s pretty sure Hisako would start hiding in random places just to spook him.

Shaking his head against such thoughts, Iwaizumi ignores the creepy playground and glides over loose gravel. Just a bit further and he’ll be back on a well-lit street, just a bit further and-

With a screech, Iwaizumi hits the breaks.

And it’s not because of a ghost or a ghoul or a monster. It’s because some guy is getting beaten up.

“HEY!” Iwaizumi yells, jumping off his bike. Without thinking, he runs straight at the assailant, who has a grip on the other guy’s coat. As Iwaizumi nears, he hears a sharp gasp and looks up to see a third person- a girl- and his breath stops short because he recorgnises her instantly.

Megumi.

“Shit,” the bigger guy hisses. Letting go of his victim which is- yes, Iwaizumi guessed right- a bloody nosed Oikawa. “Mind your own business, man. I don’t want any trou-”

Before the guy can finish, Iwaizumi’s fist connects solidly with his chin.

“Nii-chan!” Megumi cries, nearly in tears. Now that Iwaizumi can get a better look at her, he realizes what was bothering him about her. She’s the spitting image of her brother, Terushima Yuji: a delinquent Iwaizumi knows far too well. They have the same eyes.

“Fuck,” the Terushima sputters. He stands up, pulling off his beanie to reveal a mop of dyed blond hair and spits blood into the grass. He gives Iwaizumi a deadly look. “Well fuck me,” he says with a shaky laugh. “Iwaizumi fucking Hajime. What hole did you crawl out of?”

Iwaizumi says nothing, just stands there with his feet planted firmly on the ground, gaze unwavering. He can feel Oikawa’s eyes boring into his face.

Terushima spits again. “Didn't know you were still around. Thought you’d canned it.”

“You thought wrong,” Iwaizumi says with a shrug.

They stare each other down, Terushima pushing his tongue thoughtfully against his cut lip. Suddenly he seems to come to a decision. Yanking on his beanie again, he grumbles, “This ain’t fucking worth it,” and then pulls Megumi roughly away. “You just stay away from her, got it you bastard?!” he yells at Oikawa, who is still staring at Iwaizumi with dazed eyes.

Clearly distressed, Megumi follows her brother despite casting worried looks at Oikawa’s crumpled figure. Iwaizumi figures she didn’t quite know what she’d bargained for when she got her brother involved.

“Idiot,” he mutters, before turning his attention to Oikawa.

The puffy-haired moron has finally snapped out of his daze and is looking around at the park as though having just woken up. His cheek is swollen and his blue shirt is rumpled and dirty but other than that Iwaizumi can’t see any other injuries. Though when Oikawa goes to wipe his nose and blinks down at his red fingers in slow realisation, thoughts of concussion whizz through Iwaizumi’s head.

“Hey,” he says, bending down to get a good look at Oikawa’s eyes. “You okay?”

For a long moment, Oikawa stares at Iwaizumi, before asking, “What are you doing here?”

Iwaizumi resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Going home,” he says, jerking his chin at the abandoned bike behind them. “Do you know what day it is?”

That seems to snap Oikawa out of his funk. Scoffing indignantly, he clambers unsteadily onto his feet. “Of course I do,” he says with a sniff. “He wasn’t _that_ strong. And I totally had that under control, thank you very much.”

“Uh huh,” Iwaizumi says, unconvinced. He watches Oikawa stagger around a bit and sighs. “You should go to the hospital.”

“I don’t need to go to the hospital,” Oikawa snaps. His nose is still bleeding and it’s beginning to stain his scarf. “Shit.”

“You should get checked out anyway, what if-”

“I don’t need to go to the hospital!! Oikawa snaps. Then his voice drops and he mumbles, “I just want to go home.”

Silence reigns for a long moment. Behind them, the swings creak.

“Fine,” Iwaizumi huffs. “Where do you live? I’ll give you a ride on my bike.”

“That’s hardly- _umph_!” Iwaizumi cuts off Oikawa’s protest by pinching his nose together with a handkerchief, earning an annoyed glare.

“You can hardly walk, idiot. I’ll just drop you at home and make sure you’re alright, otherwise I’ll feel responsible.”

Oikawa stares at him. “Responsible?” he asks, voice muffled by the hanky.

“You’re our _valued customer_ after all,” Iwaizumi says with a grimace. He marches over to his bike and flings his leg over the frame. “So just get on, will ya? I wanna get home at some point tonight.”

It takes a long, long, _long_ minute of reluctant silence before Oikawa climbs onto the back of Iwaizumi’s bike, grudgingly holding the hanky to his nose. “Tondo street,” he mutters, sulkily. “Know it?”

“Sorta, you’ll have to show me the way after Miyachi avenue.”

“Fine.”

Iwaizumi begins peddling and Oikawa tries his damn hardest not to cling to his coat, stubbornly locking his hands onto the bike frame. It’s tense and awkward and obvious that both are unhappy at the situation.

“…”

“…”

“You’re kinda slow.” Oikawa says after a pause.

“You weigh too much.”

 “I do not!” Oikawa snaps, before adding haughtily, “I’m an athlete.”

 “You eat a shit ton of sugar for an athlete.”

 “I need the energy.”

 “…”

 “…”

 The silence of night surrounds them again. “You know,” Iwaizumi begins.

Oikawa tenses.

 “Maybe this’ll teach you to treat girls nicer. That girl was really upset, you know.”

 Oikawa snorts loudly. “I hardly think I deserved to me _attacked._ Anyway, shouldn’t _you_ could be nicer to an injured person?”

 “Just cause you’re injured doesn’t mean you’re not an asshole.”

 “Is this how you treat a _valued customer?”_ Oikawa snaps. But then his tactic changes and his voice hitches into a teasing sing song. “Oooooh, but maybe _you’re_ just jealous because you’ve never _had_ a girlfriend, Iwa-chan. Green isn’t a good colour for you, you know.”

 Narrowly, Iwaizumi stops himself from throwing Oikawa into the gutter.

 “Hmmm?” Oikawa pushes when Iwaizumi doesn’t respond. He pokes him in the back. “That’s it, isn’t it? Poor Iwa-chan!”

 Instead of answering him, Iwaizumi decides then and there to turn sharply at every corner, throwing Oikawa to the left and right, until he gets this bastard home. _Shitty-kawa_ , he thinks, angrily. _Why am I even helping this crappy guy?_

But Iwaizumi knows why, because in that instant, in that moment when Megumi’s brother’s fist was raised and Oikawa was shocked and bloody on the floor, he’d looked scared.

 _Scared_ didn’t look right on Oikawa’s face.

 “Hey, hey, want me to introduce you to some girls?” Oikawa continues, laughing obnoxiously. “Your face is totally scary but I’m sure _one_ of them will take pity on you!”

 Sighing and cursing whatever his past self did to deserve such torment, Iwaizumi puts his back into peddling and musters a very tired, very strained, “Shut up, stupid, idiot, _Crappy-kawa_. Just shut up and sit still.”

 He prayers to whatever gods will listen that Tondo Street isn’t far.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello reader, Wynny here! Thanks for reading through my ramblings! :) I've wanted to do this for a while because Haikyuu!! is my life and I also work in a café, so the many tedious hours and a lot of daydreaming formed this, I guess :) Iwaizumi is so fun to write; he's just so done with everything on a level that I totally relate to. Hope you enjoyed this and stick with it for the next chapter~


	2. Stairs to Nowhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iwaizumi just wants to spend the next year quietly working in a café, earning enough money to get to university. Unfortunately for him, one Oikawa Tooru decides that Blackbird's is the perfect place to break up with his multiple girlfriends. Tensions rise between the two and a rocky relationship is born. But when the unexpected happens and the two form a bond, well... what will happen?
> 
> (Rare pair Hinata and Tuskki also make an appearance. Yay!)

It’s late by the time Iwaizumi slinks back home, shouldering open the front door only to collapse in a tired heap in the entryway. Like a zombie, he pulls off his trainers and sets them neatly besides a haphazardly-thrown pair of high-heeled shoes. Out of habit Iwaizumi leans down to right them and then he lies on his back for a moment, staring up at the ceiling with his legs dangling in the shoes areas. The sounds of home surround him: the boiler working distantly, the whistle of a boiling pan, the sound of his mum’s voice on the phone, and it soothes Iwaizumi’s frayed patience. The smells comfort him too: warm food, polished wood and that other, almost intangible scent which is unique to his home alone.

Drinking it all in, Iwaizumi takes a long, deep breath and exhales slowly, tension finally rolling off his shoulders.

“Hajime?” his mum asks, stepping into the hallway. Iwaizumi glances up at her: she’s still in her work suit and has a hand over the receiver of the house phone. “Are you…?” she blinks at the empty doorway and then catches sight of him on the floor. “What are you doing?” she asks, clearly amused.

“Resting,” Iwaizumi grunts.

“In the hall?”

“Hn,”

His mother laughs. “Been a day, has it? Where’ve you been? You’re later than usual.”

Immediately, Iwaizumi’s brow darkens. “Hell,” He mutters, shutting out the world by putting an arm over his eyes. “I’ve been in hell.”

 

Xxx

 

**A few hours earlier**

 

Oikawa _had_ to be messing with him.

“Where the hell do you live?!” Iwaizumi pants, standing up on his feet to force more power into his legs. For the past seven minutes, Iwaizumi has been struggling to peddle both himself and Oikawa up a never-ending incline that seems to go on and on and _on_.

“I told you, Tondo street,” Oikawa answers, unconcerned. The bastard even has the gall to check his phone while Iwaizumi struggles.

“Yeah, but you didn’t say it was at the top of a fucking _mountain,”_ Iwaizumi grunts.

Oikawa rolls his eyes, Iwaizumi can hear it in his voice. “It’s hardly a mountain, Iwa-chan. Besides, it’s not that far now.”

 _Most_ people would offer to push or step off the bike for a while, but not Oikawa. He seems content just to sit and watch Iwaizumi suffer. Again, the thought of throwing the arrogant prat into the gutter whizzes through Iwaizumi’s mind.

After a lot of growling and grunting, Iwaizumi finally makes it up the steepest part of the street. He sighs in relief when the road begins to level out, scalp slick with sweat and cheeks redder than a pair of apples. Hoping Oikawa doesn’t notice, Iwaizumi discreetly allows himself to slow down to a snail’s pace to catch his breath. _Shit,_ he thinks. _Maybe I’m more out of shape than I thought._

“It’s a left here,” Oikawa says, strangely subdued.

“H-here?” Iwaizumi asks, hating the tell-tale falter in his voice.

“Yeah. This corner.”

“ _Huff._ Kay.”

“…”

Following Oikawa’s directions, Iwaizumi takes the sharp turn onto a narrow lane and comes out onto-

Iwaizumi’s eyes go wide. “… the hell?!” he demands, because in front of him is a set of apartment blocks at the top of _two flights of stairs_ set into a grassy hill. From what Iwaizumi’s gathered from his scattered friends, the apartments themselves look pretty standard for university accommodation: vaguely rickety with tiny windows, a common room on the first floor and rows of dull, red mail boxes out front. But Iwaizumi gazes at those stairs as he comes to a screeching halt at the base of the hill, dread prickling his neck.

“There isn’t a ramp,” he says.

Oikawa climbs off the back of the bike and smiles at him, dazzling and condescending as hell even with a handkerchief clasped to his nose. “I can see that, Iwa-chan.”

“You should have said, now I’ll have to go round-”

“I’m fine here,” Oikawa says, patting Iwaizumi’s shoulder with pity. “You worked so hard- pushing yourself up that hill and trying to look cool!~” he winks and Iwaizumi wants to strangle him. “It’s a shame there were no girls around.”

“But what about the stai-?” Iwaizumi begins but Oikawa cuts him off coldly.

“It’s fine from here. I’m fine.”

Iwaizumi sucks at his teeth in distaste. Then he wonders why he’s trying so hard to help this idiot and huffs a sigh. “Fine. Just stop dumping girls at our café, go somewhere else.”

“Awwwww,” Oikawa whines, arms wheeling as Iwaizumi prepares to kick off. “But Chibi-chan’s coffees smooth things over so well!”

“If you mean all over our floors, then yeah, they go well,” Iwaizumi grouches.

“That’s only happened a few times,” Oikawa says with a pout. “It usually works.”

“Then stop going out with them,” Iwaizumi snaps, annoyed by Oikawa’s nasally voice. “Find someone you really like.”

“But how will I know I like them unless I go out with them?” Oikawa asks with a sly grin, enjoying Iwaizumi’s inability to answer that question. “Ha! See. My way is best.”

Growling, Iwaizumi kicks off the ground. “Just stop coming!” he shouts, over his shoulder. “Shitty-kawa!”

And Iwaizumi should have left it at that. He _should_ have put his head down and poured all of his focus into peddling home, thoughts occupied with food and reading and _bed._ But while he was talking, Iwaizumi couldn’t help but notice that Oikawa’s nose hadn’t stopped bleeding yet. He noticed the sheen of sweat on Oikawa’s smug face and the way his eyes were a little bit too wide. He noticed… so Iwaizumi turns around, just once, and glances back at Oikawa’s retreating figure.

There, on the first step, Oikawa wobbles and grasps the hand rail.

“Idiot,” Iwaizumi mutters with a resentful sigh. “Dumbass,” but even as he mutters it, he’s already turning around.

 

Xxxx

 

“You seriously need to lay off the sugar,” Iwaizumi grunts, arm tight around Oikawa’s waist as he helps shoulder the (annoyingly) taller guy up the stairs.

“Maybe Iwa-chan’s just _weak,_ ” Oikawa snaps, real venom tangling in his words. It’s obvious he hates this situation, hates having to rely on Iwaizumi any more than he already has, and that anger is slowly eroding the smooth-talking, _I’ve-got-an-answer-for-everything_ persona Oikawa wears. His arm around Iwaizumi’s neck is maliciously tight and his gait’s a little bit off. It keeps throwing them off balance, but Iwaizumi chooses not to comment on this. “And my weight’s _perfect_ , thank you very much.”

“Say that when you carry yourself up the stairs,”

“You’re not _carrying_ me up the stairs, it’s-”

“Terushima only hit you once,” Iwaizumi gasps, stopping to rest for a while. He gazes ahead and despairs at the distance left to climb. “You must be a real lightweight.”

Iwaizumi enjoys the glare this earns him.

“You have a bad personality, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says with a sniff, pulling sharply on Iwaizumi’s arm to get him moving again.

Iwaizumi snorts. “ _Me?_ _I_ have a bad personality?”

“It’s no wonder you don’t have a girlfriend,” Oikawa says, pointedly. He keeps digging that in, and it’s starting to get on Iwaizumi’s nerves. “They’d get sick of your snarky attitude.”

“And I’m sure they just _love_ your obnoxiousness,” Iwaizumi mutters.

For a few sets of stairs, they refuse to talk to each other.

“This sucks,” Oikawa whines, after a while.

 _For once,_ Iwaizumi thinks, gritting his teeth. _We agree._

Xxxxxx

The bubbles are just starting to froth when Suga gets the text.

He’s sat, crossed-legged on the bathroom floor in a pair of flannel pyjama pants and an oversized t-shirt, with a book in his lap and a cup of sweet tea within easy reach, waiting for the tub to fill. Music is playing in the background: soft and acoustic, and Daichi is lazing across Suga’s bed, half-heartedly flipping through an economics text book.

Suga almost misses it. His phone’s on silent and he’s wrapped up snug in his story. But the lit screen reflects in the bathroom mirror, catching Suga’s eye. He glances down.

Immediately, he shuts off the water.

“Suga?” Daichi asks, making his name a question when Suga marches into the bedroom and starts hunting around for clothes. “Hey- what’s up?”

“Oikawa got into a fight.”

“Oh,” says Daichi, eyes glazing over at Oikawa’s name. He settles down to read again, and then springs right back up. “Wait, _what?”_

In answer, Suga throws Daichi’s pants at him, puts his hands on his hips and sighs. “Get your coat, slowpoke.”

 

Xxxxx

 

 

**Meanwhile…**

 

“Wha- what the actual hell, man?” Iwaizumi pants, lungs cramping, thighs burning. His breath is hot and ragged in his throat and there’s sweat all over his body now. “This is a joke right? You live on the top, fucking _floor_?”

“I told you to leave me at the entryway,” Oikawa snaps. He’s in a similar state to Iwaizumi: red faced and drenched. His voice rings shrilly against the bare walls of the stairwell, vibrating all around. “I didn’t ask for your stupid help.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Iwaizumi growls, hefting Oikawa’s weight up another painful step. “You couldn’t even walk straight.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“No, you’re a liar.”

“Would you just get this over with?!”

“I’m fucking trying!”

“URGH!” Oikawa exclaims, suddenly, making Iwaizumi jump. “I’m so _done_ with this stupid day! Stupid stairs, stupid knee, stupid punk wanna-be, stupid, stupid, STU~PID!”

Iwaizumi stares at him, flabbergasted by the sheer volume of Oikawa’s voice. It’s weird to see him like this: so undone and frustrated- a complete contrast to his usual breezy, cool self. Oikawa catches Iwaizumi staring at him and pulls a face at him. The actual bastard. Like _he_ has anything to be annoyed about. It’s clear as day that the victim of this situation is Iwaizumi and Iwaizumi alone. _Dumbass and his dumb drama_ , Iwaizumi thinks, struggling onto another floor. He takes a moment, breathing hard at the base of the next stairwell, and Oikawa immediately withdraws his arm from Iwaizumi’s shoulder. They glare at each other, doubled over and trying to catch their breath. The air is stale and laced with dust motes here, catching in the flickering lights overhead and shinning like silver fireflies. Iwaizumi watches some alight upon Oikawa’s mussed hair and his eyes instinctually drop to Oikawa’s nose. It’s finally stopped bleeding. Iwaizumi let’s out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

“Come on,” he says, gruffly, holding out his arm and looking anywhere but at Oikawa. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Hmph.” Grudgingly, Oikawa leans into Iwaizumi’s support again.

It’s strange, but now that Iwaizumi’s cooled off some, he notices that there’s a slight tremor in Oikawa’s body. Panicked thoughts of concussion whirl through his head again and he hazards a peek at Oikawa’s stained face.

“… how hard did Terushima hit you anyway?” he asks, lightly. Oikawa tenses. “I mean, I don’t think you should be this bad, maybe you should go to the hospital after-”

“I don’t need a hospital!” Oikawa snaps, with such ferocity that Iwaizumi actually stops in his tracks. Oikawa takes a deep breath. “I don’t need to go to the hospital,” Oikawa repeats, more calmly this time. “It’s fine. I can deal with this.”

“Yeah. Right.” Iwaizumi says, dryly. He starts to move again and Oikawa veers off path with a sharp intake of breath. This time, Iwaizumi doesn’t let it go. “Hey,” he says, scowling. “Are you maybe… are you hurt? I mean, before the thing with Terushima?” Iwaizumi asks, subconsciously glancing down at Oikawa’s legs. Oikawa freezes. “You said something about your knee before, didn’t you?”

Oikawa’s jaw is clenched tight. “That’s not really any of your business, is it, Iwa-chan?” he asks, trying and failing to keep his voice sweet and light.

“It is when I’m carrying you up your fucking stairs,”

“You’re not _carrying_ me-”

“Look, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says, trying to calm down. This guy really grinds on his gears. “If you tell me, I can work with you. Make this easier. Get this over faster, yeah?”

Oikawa bites his lip. Iwaizumi waits.

“It’s my leg- my knee,” he answers after a long, sulky pause. “I hurt it the other week. When Piercing-kun hit me… I landed on it… badly.”

“Oh,” Iwaizumi says. “That explains it.”

“Explains what?” Oikawa snaps, clearly irritated at having admitted his weakness.

“Well, you’ve been trembling this entire time, I guess it must hurt a lot.”

Oikawa’s face turns a sudden, violent shade of scarlet, surprising Iwaizumi. “I- I’m not trembling!” he stutters, mortified. “You’re imagining things!”

Amused, Iwaizumi lets a smirk curve his lips. “Dude. You totally are. Like a damsel.” This makes Oikawa flush an even darker, almost inhuman colour. Iwaizumi’s smirk sharpens. “You look like a tomato,” he says with an ugly snort.

Fury lashes wildly in Oikawa’s eyes and his grip around Iwaizumi’s neck threatens to cut off his airways.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi says, flinching. “That hurts-”

“Sorry,” Oikawa says, forcing a smile onto his lips. “I can’t help it, Iwa-chan. I’m a _damsel_ after all.”

The chokehold tightens. Iwaizumi’s eyes bulge. “Alright! Alright!” he shouts. “I get it- _let go.”_

Sneering nastily, Oikawa finally loosens his hold. Iwaizumi sends him a dirty look. “Bastard,” he mutters. “I should have left you at the bottom of that hill.”

“Yes,” Oikawa says, primly. “You should have.”

But neither one of them move to relinquish their reluctant hold on each other. Instead they soldier on in a dense, stony silence, Iwaizumi altering his hold to take as much pressure off Oikawa’s leg as he can.

 

xxxxx

 

When they finally, _finally,_ reach the top floor and stagger in front of a paint-chipped, badly beaten door, Iwaizumi feels strangely close to tears, or perhaps it’s just delirium, he can’t tell anymore. All he’s aware of is the sheer wave of relief that hits him when they collapse in an exhausted heap, bent-double and breathing raggedly. Lights flash in front of Iwaizumi’s eyes and his stomach roils with nausea, so badly that he has to put his head between his knees for a few moments and gulp in a couple of deep breaths, but despite that, despite everything, Iwaizumi still relishes in this. In this victory, because that’s what it is: a victory.

“Shit,” he huffs, when the world tilts slightly. “Aw fuck,”

“I’ve been thinking this for a while, but is that the extent of your vocabulary, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa asks with a cough, still being an arse despite his wretched state.

“Shut it, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says, wincing at how breathless he sounds. “Just shut up.”

Amazingly, Oikawa does just that. The silence stretches on and on until Iwaizumi starts freaking out. He looks over at the fussy-haired moron and is relieved to see that his eyes are still open and focused. Iwaizumi’s still not completely convinced the guy won’t keel over at any given moment.

“I’m so done with today,” Oikawa says suddenly, passionately, echoing his earlier words. “I’m _so_ done with today.”

“Yeah, me and you both,” Iwaizumi grunts, finally feeling steady enough to stand up. He brushes his pants off and looks down at Oikawa consideringly. “You can stand up, right?”

In answer, Oikawa splutters to his feet. “Of course I can stand,” he snaps, despite wincing at the obvious pain in his knee. It’s almost funny, how much he’s trying to hide it. Like a little kid that fell over and is trying his hardest not to cry. “I’m not an invalid.”

“Could’ve fooled me up those stairs,” Iwaizumi mutters. But Oikawa doesn’t hear him. He’s too busy fishing around in his posh satchel for the keys to his flat. When he has them in hand, Oikawa lets out a small, obnoxious sound and turns to Iwaizumi as though this small feat is a victory Oikawa can hold over his head. _Idiot,_ he thinks. _I’m outta here._

“Oi,” Iwaizumi says, while Oikawa excitedly pushes his key into the lock. “Make sure you drink something when you get in. And if you’re still feeling wobbly tomorrow, go see a doc, got it?”

Before Iwaizumi can start his trek home, however, Oikawa whirls on him with an indignant expression twisting his features. “You’re not leaving?” he says, less of a question and more of a command.

“That’s the plan, dumbass.”

Fury flashes in Oikawa’s eyes. “Not happening, Iwa-chan,” he says, mouth thinning into an unhappy line.

“What do-” Before Iwaizumi can finish his question, Oikawa spins around, quick as lightening, and points at Iwaizumi’s chest.

“I’m not owing you,” he says, clearly. “I _don’t_ owe you anything. I didn’t ask you to help me,” he says, face screwing up into an ugly sneer.

Iwaizumi blinks, Oikawa’s words sinking in, and then his jaw sets. “ _Hah_?!” he demands.

Oikawa crosses his arms and stares into the distance.

 _Is he… is he SULKING?_ Iwaizumi thinks, dumbstruck.

“I would have been fine even if you didn’t show up,” Oikawa continues, shrugging his shoulders in a careless, obnoxious gesture. “But you did. So I’ll let you have a drink, even though you stuck your nose in other peoples’ business, Iwa-chan.”

“Why you ungrateful son of-” Iwaizumi cuts himself off. “You really are a shitty guy.”

In lieu of their previous conversations, Iwaizumi expects a sharp rebuttal or a mocking remark to escape Oikawa’s petty lips at this. But instead, Oikawa simply turns to Iwaizumi and sticks his tongue out at him. _Sticks his tongue out at him._

The childishness of the action shocks Iwaizumi into disbelieving silence. _Is he a fucking grade schooler?_ he thinks.

 “Fine. Right. You don’t owe me anything,” Iwaizumi grits out, a vein throbbing in his forehead. “I get it. I didn’t ask for anything anyway. So we’re agreed and I’m just gonna go, okay?”

“Nope,” Oikawa says, staring Iwaizumi down. “I’m not having you think I’m indebted to you,”

“I don’t-”

“So you can come in,” Oikawa says with a heavy sigh, like this is burden for him. Like he’s a king being generous to a particularly slow commoner. “And you can have some water and, since I’m such a _generous_ guy, I guess I can call you a cab too. I’ll pay, of course.”

“I don’t want your money!” Iwaizumi fumes. But Oikawa just ignores him, walking into his apartment and calling over his shoulder, “Come in, if you must.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t take a single step forward. The vein his forehead is throbbing so much, Iwaizumi begins to worry about bursting a blood vessel. _So high rate. So pompous. So… so…_

When Iwaizumi makes no move to follow him, Oikawa turns around, hand on hip, and raises an expectant eyebrow at him, because of course Oikawa will get his way. Everything in this goddamn world revolves around this guy’s whims, so _obviously_ Iwaizumi will just do what he wants. Yeah. Right. Not happening.

   Iwaizumi takes deep breath. “Listen, _your majesty,_ ” Iwaizumi bites out, stepping closer to Oikawa. “When someone’s kind enough to save your sorry ass from a beating and then has the decency to drag that sorry ass back to your shitty apartment at the top of a shitty mountain, the least you can fucking do is manage a simple, fucking, thank you.”

Surprise widens Oikawa’s eyes at the anger in Iwaizumi’s voice. His mouth works, but no sound comes out. Snorting, Iwaizumi deicides then and there that he is _done_ for tonight. He takes off down the hall without waiting for Oikawa’s reply.

“And don’t break up with girls at the café, anymore,” he shouts over his shoulder, flying down the stairs. “You hear!?”

Then he leaves Oikawa’s dumbstruck figure standing outside the flat, stiff and unmoving. But Iwaizumi could care less what that idiot does now. All he wants is a bath and bed.

Growling, Iwaizumi’s whizzes down stairwell after stairwell, intent on getting home.

 

Xxxxx

 

**Present**

 

It’s past nine o’clock when Iwaizumi finally finishes his tale. He’s sat, cross-legged on the living room floor with his grandma; scattered remains of their favourite Thai take-out litter the table and the bitter scent of green tea fills the air as she delicately nurses a ceramic cup.

“That certainly sounds like an adventure, Hajime-chan,” she comments, clearly amused by the situation.

Iwaizumi grunts, absentmindedly reaching for another sesame-tofu skewer. The sound of his mother’s voice pitches in the kitchen.

“No, _no_ , listen Taka, we arranged the meeting _after_ visiting rights were decided. This is a clear violation of our agreement and if you ask me, it’s grounds for immediate visitation!”

The call had come in halfway through their meal, and his mother’s voice has been steadily rising throughout the conversation. It seems her day has been just as eventful as his, if not more.

“I’m not taking no for an answer!” she exclaims, clearly. “Call the mother, arrange the meeting and get back to me when you do, got it?”

There’s a pause, and then there’s the sound of the phone being smacked down before his mother reappears, scowling like thunder. Everyone always says Iwaizumi resembles his mum and he supposes he can see why: she’s young for a parent and they both have the same shade of dark, brown hair, the same eyes which are neither green nor brown but somewhere in-between. But those are only artificial similarities, and Iwaizumi always privately disagreed with the assessment of their likeness because whereas Iwaizumi is all sharp edges and rough outlines, his mother is softer, rounder, like all of her edges have been blurred over time. She looks warm and approachable… well, when she’s not scowling, at least.

“Bloody arsehole!” she exclaims, throwing herself down next to Iwaizumi. She’s finally changed out of her suit into a pair of sweats and an oversized jumper. She makes a grab for the beer can she left before and taking a long, _long_ swig. “Can you believe that? The bastards are trying to forego our inspection by using the divorce as grounds to move the kid around from house to house!”

“Is this the same case you were working on last week?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Yeah,” his mum replies, rubbing her temples. “They’re determined to evade us, and if they do that I won’t have any choice but to involve the police- though a fat lot of good that will do.”

Iwaizumi nods. After listening to his mother talk about her work in social services for the past ten years or so, he’s vaguely familiar with the procedures and routines that must be followed. This recent case has been a real thorn in the side for his mum over the past few weeks and she’s been losing a lot of sleep over it.

“Oh my, Akane” his grandma, Tomoko exclaims when her daughter continues to glug the beer can at an alarming rate. She quickly finishes it and cracks open another. “ _Someone’s_ feeling hard core tonight. Better hide the sake, Hajime-chan. We don’t want a repeat of last time.”

“That was one time!” Akane snaps.

“No, I’m sure it happened twice,” Tomoko says with a teasing grin. “Isn’t that right, Hajime-chan?.”

“Yep. That’s right,” Iwaizumi says with a smirk.

“My own son, turning on me!” Akane cries in outrage. It’s obvious that she’s being a good sport, however, and this verbal jousting is pulling some of the tension from her shoulders. “What did I ever do to deserve such betrayal, huh? I changed your nappies, young man!”

“So did grandma,” Iwaizumi reminds her, batting away the hand that threatens to pinch his cheeks.

Tomoko inclines her head. “That’s right. And if memory serves, you were quite clueless at first, Akane.”

“Is this pick on mum night?!” Akane demands, fondly pulling Iwaizumi into a headlock to scrub roughly at his head. “Huh?”

They laugh and after that Akane takes it slow with the beers, even accepting the shallow dish of fried rice Iwaizumi shoves in front of her.

“So what happened after you got this boy home?” Akane asks, around a mouth full of shrimp.

Immediately Iwaizumi’s expression darkens. In a terse voice, he roughly outlines his exchange with Oikawa and is surprised when his mum lets a pitying chuckle escape her lips.

   “Poor guy,” she hums.

“What do you mean?” Iwaizumi asks with a frown. Surely she didn’t mean _Oikawa._

“Well, he must have been really embarrassed,” Akane says, putting her chin on her hand and giving her son a sideways look. “He was probably mortified by the entire situation, given what you’ve said about how he usually acts.”

Iwaizumi blinks. Now that he thinks about it… Oikawa _did_ seem kind of put upon by his help. Was he wrong to be so insistent? “I didn’t want to-”

“Don’t go worrying about it,” his mother interrupts him, ruffling his hair. “I didn’t mean it like that. You’re a good kid, Hajime, and it’s not something you should apologise for.”

“Indeed,” his grandma agrees, smiling warmly over her cup of tea. “I’m proud of you.”

This makes Iwaizumi blush and he awkwardly goes to pour them all a cup of tea to avoid looking at either of them. Sometimes they can be so goddamn _cheesy_.

“Well, it’s no surprise you turned out well,” Akane says when Iwaizumi returns with the tea. “You’ve got _my_ genes after all.”

“I think you’ll find those were my genes originally, Akane,” Tomoko says with a dry chortle.

“So I guess grandma’s to blame for all of our faults too,” Iwaizumi says, earning a laugh from the pair of them. He sips the hot tea, and allows himself a moment to enjoy the peace of home. It doesn’t last long however. Iwaizumi should have seen it coming when his mum started swirling her can of beer, lips pursed with cunning.

“So,” she says, and warning signals go off in Iwaizumi’s head at her tone. “Was this Oikawa person _handsome_?”

“ _Mum_ ,” Iwaizumi groans.

She shrugs, the very picture of innocence. “What? It’s a valid question.”

“I’m not having this conversation,” Iwaizumi grouches, wishing the floor would swallow him up.

“Now, now Hajime,” Tomoko says, that teasing light dancing in her eyes. “Handsome, young men are hard to come by, you have to snatch them up while you can.”

“Did you forget his shitty personality?” Iwaizumi asks, cheeks flushed crimson. He loves his family, he really does. And he loves that they accept him and make him feel normal about all of this. But he wishes with all of his heart that they’d _stop_ with the embarrassing questions.

“Watch your language,” Akane chastises him, though her tone has little bite and she can’t seem to stop grinning. “And a little high maintenance never hurt anybody.”

“Never helped no one either,”

“You know, you haven’t said he _wasn’t_ handsome yet, Hajime.”

That does it.

Iwaizumi stands abruptly, gathers up the empty dishes and mutters about going to do the washing up, despite his family’s laughing protests. His ears feel like they’re on fire.

“I think we embarrassed him,” Tomoko chuckles, when her grandson is safely out of ear shot.

“Kid’s so serious,” Akane says, leaning back on her hands. “He should act more his age,” her brow furrows suddenly and a note of worry creeps into her voice. “He should have more fun, don’t you think? He works so hard all the time.”

“Don’t worry,” Tomoko says, face crinkling pleasantly. “I knew a kid similar to Hajime-chan once, and she turned out perfectly fine.”

Akane snorts softly. “Yeah,” she agrees. “I suppose.”

Tomoko takes a pointed sip of her tea. “I _know_.”

 

Xxxxxx

 

**A Friday**

 

The café is moderately busy today. There’s a steady flow of custom, but never a major rush, not even at lunchtime, so Iwaizumi and the staff are able to stay on top of things relatively easy. There’s no mountain of never-ending dishes to wash like there are on some days, and most of the customers get their food so quickly there’s no chance of complaint. Iwaizumi even has an hour spare to rearrange their crockery into a more organised formation and clean down the counter. When Tsukishima rolls in at four o’clock for his shift, the place is practically sparkling. Taking off his headphones, Tsukishima pulls a face at Iwaizumi’s smug smile.

“Been productive today, have we?” the younger boy asks, dryly.

But not even Tsukishima’s snarkiness can diminish Iwaizumi’s good mood. He simply throws Tsukishima’s apron at his face and says, cheerfully, “Just in time for dishes, Tsukishima.”

At this, Hinata immediately appears at the kitchen door. “Does that mean I can come out, now?!” he calls excitedly.

Tsukishima’s face hardens. “Why’s _he_ here?” he demands. It almost sounds like he’s accusing Iwaizumi of plotting against him in some way.

“I’m right here, Rude-shima!” Hinata grouches, waving around his fists. It would be more intimidating if he weren’t wearing his marigolds. Green marigolds. Hisako insists on colour coordinating the them for every individual employee. Iwaizumi’s are pink.

“I can see that,” Tsukishima mutters.

“Yachi has rehearsal tonight,” Iwaizumi interjects, glancing at Tsukishima amusedly. “Hinata said he’d cover.”

“Fantastic,” Tsukishima says, sarcastic. “I’m at risk of catching idiot-disease, _again.”_

 _“_ Oi!” Hinata exclaims, jumping up and down a little. “Whatchoo say?”

 _He’s actually annoyed,_ Iwaizumi thinks, watching the way Tsukishima’s sulkily unwinds the scarf from around his neck. _Is it because he usually asks Hisako to show him how to do coffee art on a Friday?_ Iwaizumi scoffs. _Idiot. I don’t know why he even bothers, she’s useless at it. He should just…_ A sudden, brilliant thought occurs to Iwaizumi. “Don’t worry,” he says, raising his voice so Hinata is sure to hear and thumping Tsukishima on the back, hard enough to make him jump. “I’m sure you can still _practise_ tonight.”

Tsukishima sends him a deathly glare.

“Huh?” Hinata asks, walking over to them, anger completely forgotten. “Practise what? What practise?”

“None of your business,” Tsukishima says, briskly shoving past Hinata to reach the safety of the dish washer. He sends Iwaizumi one more glare, though it comes off more sulky and betrayed than intimidating. Iwaizumi snorts.

“Hey!” Hinata shouts. Undeterred, he chases after Tsukishima. “What practise?”

“It doesn’t matter,”

“But I want to know!”

“Just drop it!”

“Come on Tsuki!”

“Don’t call me Tsuki!”

The sound of their bickering becomes distant as the pair trundle off into the kitchen. Iwaizumi decides to indulge them a few minutes before he inevitably has to drag Hinata back onto the café floor. The kid’s like a dog chasing a car when he wants something. He almost feels sorry for Tsukishima, but there’s a larger part of him that hopes Hinata will weasel Tsukishima’s secret out of him because if he does, maybe, just maybe, Tsukishima will swallow his pride and ask Hinata to show him the ropes. Iwaizumi certainly believes that the bespectacled would excel at it given the chance and with two coffee artists things would run much more smoothly. If they could get along, that is. Well, Iwaizumi can only hope from here.

“Table seven!” chimes the chef.

“Louder, Asahi!” Hisako shouts in the background.

“Ah, sorry!”” Asahi apologises in that same, gentle tone. He bobs his head in apology when Hajime strolls over to pick up the dishes. He started working at Blackbird’s two years after Iwaizumi became a waiter, and is still yet to drop his mild-mannered tendencies in the kitchen. Thinking back, Iwaizumi can still remember the shock he’d felt when he learned they were the same age. “Sorry, Iwaizumi.” He says, tugging awkwardly at his hairnet. “You probably didn’t hear that.”

Iwaizumi shakes his head. “I heard you fine. You don’t have to be as shrill as the she-devil, you know.”

“I heard that!” Hisako shouts, making Iwaizumi smirk and Asahi chuckle.

“Careful of the bowls,” Asahi says, ducking away before reappearing with a towel in hand. “They’re hot.”

“Thanks,” Iwaizumi says, gratefully accepting the checkered towel. “Smells great, by the way.”

A small, pleased smile spreads over Asahi’s face before he’s called away by an impatient Hisako. It’s a familiar scene- a part of the pattern they’d settled into over the past two years and it puts Iwaizumi in a good mood. He’s always liked routines, valued stability. It is these traits which made him such a poor choice of supervisor at first: he didn’t like talking to new customers and despaired when some of the waiting staff quit, forcing Hisako to take on two new members. He remembered shuffling into the kitchen after closing time last year and gruffly telling Hisako that he wasn’t suited for the role. She’d merely looked at him, nonplussed, before putting a hand on his shoulder.

“You’ll grow,” is all she said. “You’re dependable, reliable and you’ll grow, Iwaizumi. I know you can do this- I chose you after all.”

Hinata, who had been sixteen and eavesdropping at the time, had piped up too. “Yeah! You’re the best at orders, Iwaizumi-senpai. Like _whoosh_ and _whizz_ and _fuuuuushhh_ , yanno? If you’re in charge we’ll be fine!”

The trust they’d shown then had surprised Iwaizumi, and he’d determined then and there to do his best to be worthy of it. He pushed himself when it came to talking to customers, he put in extra hours until Hisako found new staff members and told Hinata to stop calling him senpai when Tsukishima and Yachi started working with them.

“Well, in the café you’re their senpai too,” he explained, when Hinata asked him why. “And you were here before me.”

“Not _officially_ ,” Hinata muttered, playing with his fingers. Iwaizumi could tell he liked being recorgnised, however, and ruffled his hair.

“Let’s all be equals when we work together, huh?”

Now, Iwaizumi smiles at the memory as he wanders over to table seven with two big bowls of steaming beef stew. The table in question is occupied by a pair of industrial workers who have discarded their yellow hard hats and high visibility jackets. They’re older, perhaps in their late fifties, and the years of hard work can be seen clearly in the lines on their faces and the gruffness of their hands. Iwaizumi sets down their stews, much to their delight.

“That’s the ticket,” one says, grey moustache bristling.

“Been looking forward to this all day,” says the other: a bald, round man with whiskers on his cheeks.

“Been working hard out there?” Iwaizumi inquires, politely.

“Oo, just layin’ a bit of road,” says the baldy. “But we ain’t as young as we used to be, son.”

“Speak for yourself,” says moustache, flashing Iwaizumi a wry grin. “These old bones have got life in ‘em yet.”

At this, Iwaizumi decides that he likes the pair. He glances at their empty glasses and offers them a refill. “Another coke for me,” says moustache.

“It’s cold out for coke,” Iwaizumi comments, jotting that down. “Don’t you want something warm?”

“Well, I usually get a hot chocolate,” Baldy says.

“Why didn’t yer get one, then?” Moustache asks with a frown.

“Cause I’m with you,” Baldy says, flushing slightly.

“You soft git!” Moustache exclaims. “What do yer think I’m gonna do? Laugh at yer?”

“Yer said they’re girly, what with all that whipped cream and the pink marshmallows.”

“So?!”

Baldy shuffles uncomfortably in his seat. “I didn’t want to look soft.”

“Oh for-” Moustache turns to Iwaizumi, clearly exasperated. Iwaizumi hides a smirk. “Get him a bloody hot chocolate, will ya? I’ll bloody well pay for it.”

Iwaizumi complies, barely stifling a laugh at the bickering two. They’re still tittering about money when the café door swings open and another customer strolls into the shop. A customer wrapped up in a ridiculously large, powder blue scarf, with hair that is purposely mussed and eyes that are round and searching. A customer that looks strikingly like Oikawa.

A customer that _is_ Oikawa. And there’s a girl by his side. Again.

 _He really is fucking with me,_ Iwaizumi thinks, looking down at his memo pad before the two of them can lock gazes. The bickering duo have finally settled who’s paying for what and Iwaizumi offers to take their money to the till for them, tallying up the price of their drinks in his head. They give him the exact amount of change he needs, so Iwaizumi is able to escape looking at Oikawa and his latest victim. It would only make him angry. Thankfully, some god seems to be on his side today because Tsukishima emerges shortly after Iwaizumi’s rung up the order and says, “Hisako-san wants me to change the coffee beans. Can you take over?”

Gratefully, Iwaizumi marches past the kitchens to the dishwasher and slips on his marigolds. He supposes some people might find it funny that he’s able to find doing dishes enjoyable. But then he supposes those people have never met Oikawa before. The guy is annoying on a super-human level and, forty minutes later, as though determined to prove his point, Hinata bounds into the kitchen and calls,

“Iwaizumi, that annoying customer wants to see you!”

Iwaizumi nearly drops a teapot. _You’ve got to be kidding._

_Xxxx_

_Okay._

_This is okay._

_Everything is okay._

Oikawa repeats this like a mantra in his head, smiling his most winning smile and leaning against the counter in his most casual, relaxed pose. But something seems off today, his game’s not at its best, because the blonde-haired waiter at the till doesn’t even crack a smile. In fact, his impassive face seems downright _hostile._

 _What is it with the people who work here?_ Oikawa thinks, sweating a little under the dull golden-brown eyes staring at him.

“Soooooo,” he says, overly-friendly. “I hear it’s supposed to be a nice day, tomorrow.”

“Actually,” Tsukishima replies, tonelessly. “It’s going to rain.”

 _Stupid brat._ “Is that so? My mistake,” he laughs, his most winning, charming laugh. “But I suppose rain is nice in its own way, don’t you think?”

Tsukishima shrugs. “Not really.”

Oikawa grits his teeth and abandons the niceties altogether. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised, this brat is Iwa-chan’s kohai after all, it’s no wonder they’re all rude. “Have you worked here long, Glasses-kun?”

Tsukishima’s eye twitches at the nickname. Oikawa allows himself a smug smile.

“A few months,” Tsukishima answers, shortly. “ _Sir.”_

“I see and are you-”

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Tsukishima says, plastering on a nasty smile. “But is there a reason you’re hanging around here, _sir?_ Don’t you want to order? I’m sure your friend is getting rather impatient.”

Never to be outdone, Oikawa plasters on his own venomous smile, viciously thinking, _You’re five years too early to take me on ,Glasses-kun,_ and says, “Chibi-chan’s serving me, actually. He’s such a good worker.”

Tsukishima’s jaw clenches at that and Oikawa grins. _Ohoho,_ he thinks, _A rivalry?_ “And his coffees are so amazing!” he continues, gushing. “So pretty~ Can you do those special coffees too, Glasses-kun?”

Tsukishima’s mouth thins into an unhappy line. He says nothing.

 _That’s right,_ Oikawa thinks, drumming his fingers against the counter and humming happily. _You’re nowhere near my level yet, Brat-kun._

Fortunately for Tsukishima, Hinata emerges from the kitchen just then with Iwaizumi in tow. Immediately Oikawa’s stomach roils unpleasantly. It takes everything he has to keep his feet planted firmly on the ground, his smile plastered firmly on his face as Iwaizumi glares over at him, hands on hips.

“Iwa-chan~” Oikawa greets. “I see you’re-”

“What do you want?” Iwaizumi barks.

Oikawa has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying something cutting. _Be calm. Be friendly. You need to do this,_ he says, pride lashing wildly. _Just get it over with._

“Well?” Iwaizumi demands.

Oikawa’s smile tightens. _I can do this._

Xxxxxx

**Flashback: Last Sunday**

 

For a long while, all Oikawa can do is stare at the spot Iwaizumi was occupying until just now. His parting words, “ _And don’t break up with girls at the café, anymore, you hear!?”_ don’t even register properly until Iwaizumi’s gone and Oikawa is standing in his empty flat, alone.

“What the-” he splutters, getting angry. “I was being _nice.”_

Harrumphing, Oikawa shuffles into his apartment, wincing at the stiffness of his knee. It really freakin’ hurts. It was sore before the fight but now it’s positively _burning._ Luckily Oikawa has a physical therapy appointment tomorrow, so they’ll be able to strap it up and tell him how to take care of it. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Iwaizumi he didn’t need to go to the hospital. He just needs to wait until tomorrow. Still, Oikawa’s pretty sure that the practitioner won’t be able to do anything about his stinging nose. _Stupid Piercing-kun_.

“Ack!” Oikawa exclaims, when he reaches his bathroom and glances in the mirror, horrified by the blotchy complexion that greets him. Tentatively, he touches his cheek and hisses with pain. “My face,” he whines, uncaring of how childish he sounds. “That better not leave a bruise!”

Sighing dramatically, Oikawa changes into a pair of snuggly pyjamas and throws himself on his bed, curling up into a pathetic ball. But Oikawa doesn’t care. He wants to sulk so he will. Today’s been such a shitty day.

_“Make sure you drink something,”_

Iwaizumi’s words float, unbidden, in Oikawa’s head and he considers ignoring the advice. But Oikawa isn’t stupid. Stubborn and hard-headed, yes, but not stupid. Sighing, he wraps himself in a blanket and shuffles into the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

The whole scene keeps replaying in his mind while Oikawa sits miserably at the kitchen table, nursing his water like it’s a glass of whiskey. When Megumi called out to him in the street and her brother turned around, snarling, “ _That’s_ the guy that dumped you?” Oikawa knew the night wasn’t going to end well.

It was obvious from the things Terushima shouted at Oikawa that Megumi had exaggerated some things and stretched the truth a little. It was embarrassing; people kept turning to look at them in the street and Oikawa didn’t want to catch the attention of his friends, waiting near the movie theatre for him. So he ushered the siblings into the park, hoping to placate them, but only managed to provoke Terushima further.

“You’re not even sorry, you asshole!” Terushima shouted at him. “She cried her eyes out over you!”

“And I’m sorry,” Oikawa answered, trying to be reasonable. “But that’s not my problem,”

“You son of a bitch!” Terushima hissed. “You’ve not got a decent bone in your fucking body!”

“Well,” Oikawa muttered, unable to help himself. “At least I’m not ugly.”

Really, he should have seen the punch coming.

It was a shock: being hit. Oikawa had seen it in films so much that he’d become almost numb to the idea of such violence. But actually having a fist slam into his face, having the wind knocked clean out of his lungs and watching an alarming starburst of light flash before his eyes- it was a shock. An unpleasant and _painful_ shock. He’d felt so pathetic, crumpling like a stack of cards into the gravel, feeling his knee grind and pain splinter throughout the whole left side of his body, unable to do anything to prevent it. The feeling of helplessness had been the worst thing about it, knowing that he was at the complete mercy of someone else. It makes Oikawa cringe terribly to picture himself lying there, scared and defenceless.

And then there was the scowling guy from Blackbird’s, striding onto the scene like some goddamn hero and throwing a punch like it was nothing. The guy who Oikawa teased and served him coffee in the evenings, the guy who struggled to remain polite or keep the flush from his cheeks when Oikawa said something outrageous.

“Stupid Iwa-chan,” Oikawa mumbles, wrapping the blanket over his head. “Trying to look cool.”

 _He did look cool,_ a small, treacherous voice says at the back of his head. But Oikawa shakes it away. He does _not_ think Iwa-chan looked cool. Not at all.

Before Oiawa can coil himself completely in a blanket cocoon, there’s a knock at the door and the unmistakable sound of Sugawara’s voice calling his name. Distantly recalling the text Oikawa managed to send on the back of Iwaizumi’s bike, Oikawa rises to open the door.

Immediately, Suga swarms all over him like a horde of mothering bees.

“Look at your face!” he exclaims unhappily. “You need ice, do you have ice? Go get ice, now.”

“Too tired,” Oikawa says glumly, ignoring Suga’s instruction and instead slumping against his shoulder. “Hi, Daichi-san,” he adds when he spots the dark-haired boy standing awkwardly in Oikawa’s hall. Like he always does. “Have my good looks suffered?”

“Oh no,” Suga says, before Daichi can even think of a reply to this ridiculous question. He pushes Oikawa firmly off his shoulder and leads him by the wrist into the kitchen. “I’m not having you moping and feeling sorry for yourself like that. Sit down.”

Oikawa does, grumbling darkly about Suga’s bossy attitude. Though in reality it feels nice to be fussed over. Opening the freezer, Suga wraps a handful of ice in a towel and presses it firmly to Oikawa’s face, earning a sharp hiss.

“That’s cold!” Oikawa complains. “Meany!”

“It’s ice, Oikawa,” Suga replies, dryly. “Of course it’s cold. How’s your knee? Is it sore? I bet you haven’t eaten properly today either- I keep telling you to make time for meals. How are you supposed to keep up with training if you’re starving, hm?”

“I’m eating fine!” Oikawa protests. “You’re such a _nag.”_

“Call me what you want,” says Suga, ignoring the jibe and sitting opposite Oikawa. “I’ve heard it all before.” He motions impatiently for Daichi to stop hovering stiffly in the threshold. “Now, what happened?”

If it were anyone else, Oikawa would brush them off or spin them a yarn, but this is Suga: the one person Oikawa won’t do that to. _Can’t_ do that to. After all, his seemingly mild-mannered friend has a scary habit of sniffing out a lie, no matter how good it is, so Oikawa tells them. He _might_ exaggerate Terushima’s strength just a little, and make himself out to be a little bit more capable of defending himself than is necessarily true, but other than that, Oikawa simply gives them a short play by play of the events.

“And then Iwa-chan just _left,_ rude jerk. I even offered him a cab home!” Oikawa says, flinching at the numbness of his face. He tries to put it down, but Suga insists that he keep it plastered to his face for at least half an hour. Oikawa sticks his lip out in an ugly pout. “But it’s _cold,”_ he whines, throwing it on the table.

“You’re the one that was concerned about your good looks,” Suga says, lifting a judgemental eyebrow. “I can’t believe you got into a fight.”

“It didn’t sound like much of a fight, to be fair,” Daichi comments, laughing good-naturedly. He cuts off, however, when Oikawa sends him a deathly glare. Daichi coughs awkwardly into his hand. “Well, maybe this will serve as a warning, Oikawa-san.”

“Not you _too,_ Daichi-san!” Oikawa groans. “I’ve already been lectured once tonight, I don’t need another one.”

“Iwaizumi lectured you?” Suga asks with obvious interest. “About acting like a floozy?”

“I’m not a _floozy,”_ Oikawa protests, outraged. “I just don’t want to settle down. And it’s not _my_ fault I’m popular.” He ignores the dry looks Daichi and Suga throw at him for this, and ploughs on. “But yes, Iwaizumi thought he could talk down to me, telling me to stop coming to the café and dumping girls. Getting all mad and shouting at me about decency and thanking people. Jerk.”

“Wait,” Suga says, holding up a hand. “Don’t tell me… you didn’t _thank_ him?”

A frown forms on Oikawa’s brow. “I offered to pay for a cab.”

“ _Oikawa,”_ Suga groans, covering his face with his hand. “I can’t believe you.”

A flicker of anger twitches into life inside Oikawa’s stomach at this. “What?!” he snaps. “I didn’t ask him to help me.”

But Suga will have none of it. Instead he puts both of his hands on Oikawa’s shoulders and looks directly into his eyes, wearing his _no-room-for-discussion_ face. “You are going back to that café and you are going to thank him.”

The idea does not appeal to Oikawa in the least. “But-”

“Nope,” Suga interrupts him. “This isn’t a request and this is the end of the discussion.”

Faced with the sheer force of Suga’s will, Oikawa looks down at the table and kicks his legs about in a sulk. “I feel sorry for Daichi-san,” he mutters. “Putting up with Suga’s bossiness must be tiring. Is he this bad in bed too?”

In answer, Suga leans over to Oikawa and presses the icepack against his face again. Hard.

 

Xxxxx

 

**Present**

 

It took Suga two more days of nagging before Oikawa final caved, and even then, it took another three days to convince himself to actually stroll down to Blackbird’s. He put it off for as long as he could, making excuses about homework and practise and finally buying a new kettle for his flat, even though none of these things have ever stopped him from popping in for a coffee before. It isn’t that he’s scared or nervous, and a part of him does feel bad about the way he treated Iwaizumi… but actually standing here, having the entire event play out again in his head under Iwaizumi’s glaring eyes… it makes him feel pathetic. Incapable. Useless.

Oikawa hates to feel useless.

“I see you didn’t listen to my advice,” Iwaizumi grunts, when Oikawa doesn’t say anything.

Snapping out of his reverie, Oikawa manages a confused, “Huh?”

In answer, Iwaizumi’s eyes darken and he jerks his chin at table twelve. Oikawa glances over and realises he’s talking about Yumi. _That again?_ Oikawa thinks, forcing a strained laugh. _Why won’t he drop it?!_

“Don’t be silly, Iwa-chan,” he says, sweetly. “Yumi and I are just good friends.”

They both hear the unspoken, _for now_ , tagged onto the end of that sentence.

“ _Anyway,_ ” Oikawa says, distinctly aware that both Chibi-chan and the bratty waiter are watching him closely. “I, um…” he struggles, trying to force the words out. Instead, he finds himself saying, “You know, pink really suits you, Iwa-chan!”

Both of Iwaizumi’s eyebrows quirk up quizzically at this, and then he glances down at the marigolds he’s still wearing. Immediately his cheeks flush.

“Alright,” he says gruffly. “If you’re just here to piss around, I’ve got stuff to-”

“No!” Oikawa exclaims, cursing himself. He bites his cheek and forces down his pride. “I didn’t mean to say that, I meant,” he takes a deep breath and draws himself up. Gritting his teeth, he looks Iwaizumi straight in the eye because he’s not a grovelling mess, he’s Oikawa Tooru, and he’ll be damned before he drops his gaze to the floor. “I came to thank you,” he says, and even to his own ears it sounds more condescending than thankful. “For helping me, I mean. Even if I didn’t ask you. Thank you.”

The silences stretches between them as Oikawa’s words sink in and Iwaizumi’s eyes widen. It is only broken when Chibi-chan leans over to Iwaizumi on his tiptoes and whispers loudly, “What’s he talking about, Iwaizumi?”

But Iwaizumi waves him away, glancing warily at Oikawa. “You’re… welcome.” He replies. “So… is that it? I’ve got dishes to do-”

“No,” Oikawa says, suddenly coming to a snap decision. “I want to repay you.”

“… _repay_ me?”

Even Oikawa’s not fully sure why he said that, though he has a sneaking suspicion it has something to do with his injured pride. “Yes,” he says. “Since you wouldn’t let me get you a cab, I owe you. I don’t like owing people, so let me repay you. Want do you want?”

Both younger waiters turn to Iwaizumi to wait for his reply, but their senpai seems rather speechless at Oikawa’s sudden request. For some reason, Oikawa enjoys his panicked expression.

“I, er,” stutters Iwaizumi. “I don’t want anything.”

“Let me buy you dinner, then,” Oikawa says, more because he wants Iwaizumi to wear that expression longer than a genuine desire to part with his money. “I’ll-”

“No.”

The answer is short and immediate. Oikawa tries not to pout. “Why?”

“Just- no.” Iwaizumi says, backing away from the counter. “It’s fine. You’ve thanked me. We’re even.”

 _Oh no,_ thinks Oikawa, puffing out his cheeks. _You’re not getting away again._ “Iwa-chaaaan!” he calls as Iwaizumi walks away, throwing baffled looks over his shoulder at Oikawa’s sudden, whiny outcry. “I’m not leaving until I repay you!”

But Iwaizumi just shakes his head and disappears into the kitchen.

 _Fine,_ Oikawa thinks, stalking back to table twelve. _Challenge accepted, Iwa-chan._

Xxxxxxxx

 

Oikawa sticks to his word.

“He’s still there, Iwaizumi,” Hinata tells him, ten minutes later.

Iwaizumi pretends not to hear.

“He’s seems pretty determined,” Hisako comments, another twenty minutes later.

Iwaizumi keeps scrubbing the dishes.

“Even his girlfriend’s left now,” Tsukishima adds, when Iwaizumi leaves the sink to start brushing the floor.

“I don’t think he’s gonna leave!” Hinata chimes, when it gets to twenty-past five and the bastard is _still_ sitting there, glaring at Iwaizumi whenever they make eye contact.

“I’m not staying late,” Tsukishima says vehemently, when all of the jobs are done and it’s only Iwaizumi clearing up, desperately finding odd jobs to do. Hinata and Tsukishima watch him from the counter, jumpers and coats already on.

“I have to watch Natsu tonight,” Hinata says, worriedly.

“I promised my dad I’d be back to help him out at the garage,” Asahi says, joining them.

“If only there was a way to get rid of him,” Hisako adds, leaning against the till.

They all look at Iwaizumi.

“ _Fine!_ ” Iwaizumi shouts. Striding angrily across the shop floor, he stands in front of Oikawa, face screwed up in a thunderous scowl, and snaps, “You can get me ramen, happy?!”

And despite Iwaizumi’s deathly tone, Oikawa breaks into a smug, winning smile. “Beaming,” he replies, brightly. He glances down at his watch. “But can we make it quick? I have laundry to do tonight.”

“Bas-!” Iwaizumi cuts himself off with an angry breath. He turns on his heel and marches over to the counter to get his coat, ignoring the amused expressions mirrored on Tsukishima and Hisako’s faces.

“Hurry, Iwa-chan~!” Oikawa calls after him.

 _I’m going to regret this,_ Iwaizumi thinks, slipping into his hoodie and coat. He glances at Oikawa’s sparkling, smug face. _I’m definitely going to regret this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so late with this chapter! I want to update weekly (that was the plan, after all) but I ended up working double shifts at my own café this past week. T_T Hopefully things will be back on schedule now though! Thanks to everyone who bookmarked the first chapter, left comments or ninja read it (i.e. from the unidentified shadows... muahahaha), I'm truly grateful for all of the support! On a side note, a lot of the customer interactions Iwa-chan deals with are taken straight from my own encounters, so you know those two industrial workers? That conversation genuinely happened at work! Anyway, I hope you stick around for the next chapter, thank you! xx

**Author's Note:**

> Hello reader, Wynny here! Thanks for reading through my ramblings! :) I've wanted to do this for a while because Haikyuu!! is my life and I also work in a café, so the many tedious hours and a lot of daydreaming formed this, I guess :) Iwaizumi is so fun to write; he's just so done with everything on a level that I totally relate to. Hope you enjoyed this and stick with it for the next chapter~


End file.
